


The Cacophony

by lollipopmania



Category: Naruto
Genre: 5+1 Things, Snippets, and arguments, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollipopmania/pseuds/lollipopmania
Summary: Temari laughs, leaning back in. “I thought you didn’t date loud girls?”“Exceptions,” he says. Or tries to say. It’s hard to manage coherency around her mouth.---or: Five times Temari was too loud and the one time she wasn't.a 5+1 fic
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	The Cacophony

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a gift-exchange on the shikatema discord. It is a gift for Elo based off the prompt: "Loud." I hope this is an okay and not-completely-disliked interpretation of your wonderful prompt!!
> 
> A massive and never-ending thank you to [chau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioncehadabrain/pseuds/ioncehadabrain) for pushing me at all points here and keeping me from writing plain shit and to [steph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylversmith) for the absolutely wonderful edits and assurances!!

**+1. Too [Quiet] at the Hospital**

“Are you okay?” Kankuro asks, putting the back of his hand on her forehead, brushing away the bangs stuck to her skin with sweat. 

“Not fucking great.” 

Kankuro pulls his hand back quickly, holding it to his chest. as though burned by the bite of her words. “Sorry.” 

“How do you think, idiot?” 

He turns to glare at Ino, who is perched in the chair by Temari’s bed. 

“I don’t know! She’s being so quiet.”

Shikamaru says nothing. He isn’t sure what more he can say. The one time he tried to touch Temari’s shoulder, a few hours earlier, she’d smacked his hand away. And not in the impatient way she sometimes does — it was more violent. More scary. More influential in his decision to stand on the other side of the room than anything else that had happened all day. 

Kankuro looks back at his sister. “Is there anything I can do?”

Temari, who has had her eyes closed for the past five minutes, raises her head and blinks. 

“Find me a second epidural.”

Shikamaru exhales. “It doesn’t work that way.” She looks, angry, over at him. With another long sigh, he straightens off the wall. “It’s one, Temari. You just ask them to increase it.”

“Ask them to fucking increase it then.”

She’s not loud. On the contrary, her tone is hardly above a whisper, but her words come out like daggers. She is staring at him like she hates him. Maybe. Or like she wants to kill him. Yes, that’s the one. 

Hm. Shikamaru tilts his head. It’s not _his_ fault. Genuinely. Mostly.

“Temari.”

Her eyes, bright and furious, narrow even more. 

And then, suddenly, she squeezes them shut, throwing her arm out, hand finding purchase on the nearby armrest of Ino’s chair. 

Shikamaru rushes forward, not thinking as he reaches for her wrist. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Fucking shit,” she whispers. Panting. Eyelids fluttering. “Oh god. It hurts. It hurts!”

He leans forward, reaching with his other hand for her neck. Her cheeks are red, but the rest of her face is pale. Too pale. She should get some more water. Ice chips? 

“Shit,” Kankuro says, pacing back and forth. “I’m going to get the doctor.” 

Shikamaru stops him, straightening as soon as Temari’s breathing evens out. “It’s just a contraction.”

“No.” Temari opens her eyes. She blinks, as though refocusing, and after a moment, sits up straighter. “Go get me that second epidural.”

Kankuro looks from her to Shikamaru and back again. 

“It’s not a second—”

“Shut. Up.” She snaps. And then she yanks her arm away. “And don’t touch me!”

Shikamaru groans. Ino hums. 

“Sorry, do you have something to say?”

She looks up at Temari. “Sure! Kankuro, go get that second epidural.”

Kankuro, frazzled, leaves the room. He’s only just arrived. He has no idea what’s been going on.

Shikamaru’s groan is louder this time. He rubs his hands over his eyes. He’s been up for far too long. He hasn’t slept in days. It’s Wednesday now. Right? Or is it still Tuesday? Wait. When _did_ Kankuro get here? Could it be Thursday? Shit. What time _is_ it?

“Oh,” Temari reaches out again for the chair handle, squeezing. “ _Oh._ ”

“Again?” 

“Yeah,” she says. And this time she doesn’t throw off his hand from where it grips her shoulder. “That was shorter, wasn’t it?”

“By a lot.” Ino says quickly, suddenly much more interested. She stands, placing a hand on Temari’s thigh. “Let me go get someone.”

“Kankuro will—” Another wave hits and stops whatever she was going to say. 

“ _Temari_.” He bends down, holding her face. He’s smiling. He can hardly breathe. “That was seconds.” God. Is this it? She looks pained. She’s smiling too. She’s— _wow_. This is it. He’s shaking. “Ino,” he says, harsher than he probably ever has, “go get the doctor!”

But before Ino can move, the door swings open and one of the residents whose shift started within the last day (he _thinks_ ) walks in. 

“Temari,” she says, pert, right as Temari begins to come down from the last contraction. “Your vitals are spiking. How’s it going in here?”

Shikamaru pulls back and Temari, consistent, shakes his hands off her. 

“They’re coming quicker.” She says, brushing her hair from her face, lips dry. 

“May I?” The resident goes to lift the gown between Temari’s legs. “Sorry,” she inhales, straightening. “Not yet. You’re only at seven centimeters.”

“Seven!? That’s it?”

Shikamaru can feel all the impending joy slip away from him. Suddenly, once the rush dies down, he feels the slight effort of excitement has hurt his shoulders, his back. He’s annoyed again. It feels like this will never end.

The woman smiles apologetically. “This is your first, right? They say the active labour will usually be much worse for the first one.”

“How does that help me?” Temari snaps. 

Shikamaru groans and rubs a hand against his neck to relieve the tension. He’s been standing in this room for so long. He’s been on the verge of this for so long. He’s exhausted — running on nothing but fumes. 

It’s worse, of course, for Temari, but she’s grouchy and surprisingly unsympathetic given that she’s about to push a human being out of her. 

“Sorry.” The resident offers kindly, holding her clipboard to her chest. “You’re in pain though? An alert went off.”

“God, _yes._ ” Temari says. And then she is smiling and all charm and congeniality like she is when she meets new people (or, basically when she is with anyone that isn’t him). “If I could get,” she purposefully sends a look Shikamaru’s way, “ _more_ of the epidural, that would be fantastic.”

“Of course!” The resident smiles. “Though, if I’m being honest, it really doesn’t do all that much. From what I understand, childbirth is still likely one of the most physically painful things the average woman will experience.”

“It’d be great if they could just knock you out like they used to.” Ino adds, sitting back down in the chair as she makes eyes as the resident. “Go to sleep pregnant. Wake up: baby. Easy.”

The resident laughs. Shikamaru wants nothing more than to get out of this room. There is something about the hospital — the buzzing of machines, the smell of cleaning supplies, the beeping of PAs, the squeezing of rubber soles on linoleum, and a hum of crying wherever he goes — that overwhelms him. It’s all so _loud_ even though it’s low and only in the background. 

“Oh, god.” Temari sighs. “Can’t you?”

“We don’t do that anymore. But let me find your doctor. Maybe we can release some more epidural and, if you’re lucky, you’ll fall asleep.”

“If I’m lucky.” Temari repeats. She sighs and shares a look with Ino.

“She’s really hurting,” Ino pleads, crossing her legs. “There must be something we can do?”

The resident consults her chart. “We were a little worried actually,” she says, flipping over the top page. “You were so quiet, we heard nothing from this room. But it looks like you were in quite a lot of pain.” She drops the page and looks back up. “You’re really stoic, aren’t you?”

Ino balances her elbow on the arm of the chair and rests her chin in her hand. “Do many women actually scream? Like in the movies?”

A shrug. “We all react to pain differently.”

“Hm.” Ino taps a finger to her lip in dramatized consideration. “Is childbirth very different from other things? Like stubbing your toe? Or getting a piercing in a... painful place?” She pats Temari’s arm. “Your tolerance is high, isn’t it?”

Shikamaru falls back to rest his shoulders against the sterile hospital walls. He rallies just enough energy to send Ino a strong look of annoyance for taking this time to actually try and flirt with the resident assigned to their room; but Ino, though she sees it, pointedly ignores him and continues to bat her eyes at the woman. 

“Well,” the resident says, coyer now, engaging with Ino — god, why don’t they knock him _and_ Temari out until the baby is here? — “they do say that sex correlates.” She considers Temari for a moment, then goes back to Ino. “It’s a similar sort of inhibition, maybe?” 

Ino nods, wholly engaged. 

“I mean, I read that once.” The resident says in a soft laugh. “But I’ve never looked into it.” She looks back to Temari. “When you….”

“Oh, yes. She’s very quiet during sex.” Ino says quickly. Wholeheartedly, as though she is confident and assured in her statement. 

That perks Shikamaru up _real_ fast. 

“ _What_?” He almost shouts, completely aghast, mouth open in shock. 

Temari, silent, looks between them, not nearly as surprised or angry as she should be.

Ino shrugs and waves her hand. “What?” She scoffs. “ _You_ told me once. A long time ago.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Whatever. I don’t know. _Maybe_ there was some alcohol involved.”

Shikamaru is speechless. Temari must be furious. He’s terrified to look at her. He has no recollection of something like that ever happening — it only sounds somewhat plausible because the validity at issue in the statement. 

But Temari only huffs, casually dismissing the comment as she shifts in the hospital bed, knees wide and one hand on her stomach. “That’s only because he was never any good at it.”

God, she’s such a pain in the ass.

The resident, who had been smiling at the exchange, steps back, embarrassed. “Oh,” she says softly, apologetically, retreating closer to the door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume that you two were together. I just thought —”

Shikamaru sighs and leans back, closing his eyes as he slumps into the wall again. When he opens them, the resident is looking concerned. “We’ve been married three years.”

“Oh.” The resident swallows, looking back and forth between them, completely unsure who, if anyone, is joking. 

Temari shrugs and finally brings her gaze to his. She still looks pale. He wishes there were more he could do. He wishes this were over. He’s always hated seeing her in pain. 

But she’s smiling at him. It reminds him why they are here. It reminds him, even though he never really forgets, that he’s in love with her. And that he always has been. Since the moment they met.

Suddenly the door is thrown open and Kankuro barrels in, stopping short — with a small-trip — as he tries to avoid colliding with the resident. 

“Ah, sorry!” He turns, cheeks flushed. “I can’t find the doctor!”

“ _Oh_ ,” Temari’s eyelashes flutter and suddenly all attention is back on her. Her lips purse as she falls into another contraction, reaching out until Ino grabs her hand and lets her squeeze, white-knuckling Ino’s fingers until even Ino herself is gasping in pain. 

Kankuro walks over in one long stride to put a hand on Temari’s shoulder, but she pushes him away with her free arm. She’s taking long, difficult breaths. Shikamaru swallows and tries to keep himself from looking away. 

They stay still like that. Everyone watching and waiting as she pushes through it for almost an entire minute. 

And then, as quickly it has come, the contraction stops and Temari exhales in a gust, releasing Ino’s hand and collapsing back against the raised bed. 

“I’ll find him!” Kankuro says decisively, turning on his heel to leave, but the resident, still near the door, stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“No,” she says. “I’ll go get permission to release more of the epidural.” 

Kankuro swallows. He looks at the resident for a long moment before looking down to her hand on his bicep. And then he blushes. 

Shikamaru, between this and the utter fatigue of everything else around him, could laugh. Is this even real?

He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks over at Temari. She’s smirking at him, obviously in relation to this resident and her apparent-draw. 

Shikamaru, slowly, smiles and shakes his head, keeping his eyes on her. The whole thing is ridiculous. It’s all a mess. It’s been days of this. And _still_ just seven centimeters! 

Ino, with raised eyebrows, stands up and grabs Kankuro by his tee shirt, pulling him and the resident out of the room, directing the resident to get the doctor and saying something about going with Kankuro to get some coffee.

The moment the door swings shut behind them, Temari gestures with her chin for him to come forward. 

With a small noise of reluctance, Shikamaru pushes off the wall and walks over to the hospital bed she’s been in, with only short breaks, for the past seventy-two (or so) hours. He’s still smiling though, still amused through the absolute burnout. 

She closes her legs slightly to allow him to take a seat on the bed near her upper-thigh. 

“I need them out of here.” She says, tilting her head, relaxed on the back of the bed as she looks at him. “Ino and Kankuro and your mother and anyone else who comes by.”

Shikamaru taps his fingers on his knee. “All of us?”

She thinks it over. “You can stay.”

“You don’t even want me touching you.”

She laughs and closes her eyes for a moment. “I need to be getting things _away_ from me,” she says when she opens them again. She gestures to her belly. “Out of me.”

He laughs too, and lifts a hand, placing it on the offending roundness of her stomach. 

“You’d better not start crying again.” 

He says nothing. He can’t make any promises. 

With his other hand, he reaches for her face, curving his palm over her cheek, pulling her gaze up to his. 

“So,” she says as he begins to push her bangs back, “you told Ino — and, I’m assuming, Choji — that I’m quiet in bed?”

“I don’t remember it. Must have been years ago.”

She waits for him to drop his hand from her face before she speaks again. “Well. Am I?”

Shikamaru shrugs. 

“In comparison to the _leagues_ of other women you sleep with?”

He rolls his eyes. Again. 

“I thought you think I’m too loud?”

“In every other context.” Then he smirks and leans forward to kiss her, but she pushes him back. Shikamaru huffs, shaking his head. He corrects: “you can never be too loud. In fact, if you were louder here, the doctor would probably come quicker.” 

“Ha,” she breathes, but it’s with little bite. “Yeah. Nice try. Just wait until you’re taking care of my kid. Screaming newborn will teach you some things about volume control.”

“ _Our_ kid,” he clarifies. 

“Not how you’re going to feel when you’re the one getting up at two in the morning.”

He leans down again without really thinking too much about it, but she doesn’t stop him this time; even though it hurts his back and, when he closes his eyes right now, it feels like he may not be able to open them again. 

Temari’s lips are dry. She doesn’t open the kiss — he isn’t looking for her too — but she brings her hand to the back of his head and holds him there, pressed against her. It’s uncomfortable and hurts his neck, but he stays until she no longer wants him to. 

* * *

**5\. Too Loud at City Hall**

The room is musty. Blocks of light shine through the huge window pains, painting large swaths of the wood floors. Specks of dust move around the room, visible in the slabs of sunlight shining in. It’s quiet too. He’d have expected to be in-and-out quicker on a Monday morning, but they must be busy somewhere — there must be people somewhere, considering how long this is taking. 

Shikamaru looks over at her. Temari’s legs are crossed at the knee and her fingers are tapping on the wooden bench between them. She’s nervous. 

Is that good? Is it bad?

He watches her hand for a while, taking in her knuckles and the angle of her fingers, and then moves his gaze up, following the bend of her wrist into her forearm, the scar near her elbow, her bicep, and higher to her shoulder, until he is looking at the sweep of her hair pulled up and the curve of her neck and cut of her jaw. 

“Stop.” She says shortly, not looking at him. Her shoulders are slumped as she watches one of the doors near them. He doesn’t know where they’re going to go when the time comes, but perhaps she’s thinking it is through that door.

He can’t stop looking at her though. He never could. 

Finally, she turns her head to him. 

“Are you crying?” She scoffs and shakes her head, turning back to the door. “Shut up.” She snaps, loudly, too loudly, even though he hasn’t said anything. “Jesus christ. Crybaby.”

Shikamaru exhales. He hadn’t realized it, but she’s right. There is moisture clinging to his lashes. It feels apt though. If not now, then when?

Without hesitation, he reaches a hand between them and covers the one she keeps jittering. Temari neither pulls back nor turns to give him any attention, but she does still her movement. 

Her skin is cold. Her hands are often cold. 

“Hey,” he says softly, wiping the back of his free hand to his eyes. 

She glances back, frowning. And then, by no impetus except looking at him for more than a few seconds, her mouth eases into a smile. She turns her palm over to hold his.

“I won’t regret it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He smirks. “Sure. You’ve never regretted anything. You always make the right choice.”

Temari laughs loudly. It’s jarring in the silence of the building, in the echo that follows. It bristles in his shoulders, even though he’s well-used to it. Even though he loves it. 

“There’s no need to further woo me. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

He brings a finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet and she rolls her eyes. 

“I’ve never wooed you.”

“You did something.”

He exhales in a soft, half-laugh. “Yeah, fingered you once.” It’s something she would say, not him, and she smiles at the way he is impersonating her.

Temari squeezes his hand, but doesn’t let go even when she looks away again, refocusing on the door.

It’s silent in the hall once more. Shikamaru goes back to looking at her. He’s mostly stopped tearing up. 

After a few minutes, a man in a suit comes into the hall from the front-entrance, looking frazzled, and half-walks, half-jogs down the hall before disappearing behind a door at the very end. A few minutes later, two women come out one door near him and then exit the hall through the one Temari is keeping in her gaze. 

Shikamaru swallows and tugs on her hand, where it is still held in his between them, to get her attention. 

She glances over, tilting her chin in his direction versus turning all the way to him this time. 

“You’ve no regrets?” He asks, frowning. “Really?”

She shakes her head. 

“Not about—” he gestures before them. “Just in general?”

Temari hums and taps a finger to her chin in consideration. She looks away from him as she thinks about it. 

He wonders what she could be imagining. She must regret some things, right? Everyone must. He does. There are so many things he would have done differently, especially when it comes to her. At a minimum, there were thosethree or so years where he _knew_ her and yet wasn’t with her. He very much regretted that. Plus loads of other instances he could name offhand, and hundreds more he would remember if given time.

There were things for her too, weren’t there? 

Her brothers, perhaps? 

Honestly, they are his biggest worry at the moment — he worries, most of all, that she will regret having done this without them. 

But there are other things, things she has told him, that she surely regrets having done. She hates how she treated her youngest brother, how her father taught her and Kankuro to distance themselves from Gaara for so long, how they used to genuinely believe that he was responsible for the death of their mother.

When she was a teenager, she cheated on her boyfriend — for over a month before she finally broke up with both people. 

Things like that. Didn’t she regret those things? Didn’t she regret their break up? 

Finally, after long moments, Temari turns her head back. “No.” She says, squeezing his hand one more time before letting it go and settling it over her knee. “Even if it's the things that I know I should have done differently, so long as they led me here, then there is nothing to regret.” She looks away. “I wouldn’t wish for anything other than what I have right now. It’s all led me here.”

Shikamaru straightens. He blinks. He hadn’t meant to ask so seriously. He hadn’t known what he was expecting. Perhaps just to pass the time?

But— oh. 

There’s no surprise to it, of course. He knows she loves him. He’s known it for a long time. He’d suspected it for years, long before she ever said anything. He’d known it that morning two years ago when she’d woken him up in the middle of the night for sex and he’d told her he was too tired so she’d have to do all the work — what he’d expected, if anything in his sleep, was that she’d get annoyed and leave him alone. Instead, she’d climbed on top of him, shaken him until he’d actually opened his eyes, and told him that she was in love with him. And, though she really doesn’t say it often, she _had_ said it since then. He _knew_ it. 

Still. 

That’s nothing in comparison to this. 

The only hesitation in coming here, for him, had been the rush of it, the spontaneity of the moment — not the _act_ itself. He doesn’t question the commitment or what it means to be with Temari. He has never really thought much about it, in the end. 

But, for some reason, having her say it like that, even though its meaning is something he has understood for a long time, feels like a weightier confession than anything she has ever said, anything she will ever say. He doesn't know why. It's the same sentiment — he’d just never quite heard it articulated like that. 

He’d never had to think, _this is it_ , solely because it always _was_. 

_It’s all led me here._

It had. Everything. His entire life. For this. For her. For them. 

He opens his mouth and, without meaning to, he takes a shaky breath. It prompts Temari to turn around and smack him painfully (seriously) on the shoulder. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She snaps. It echoes, again. “Stop!”

He knows he’s crying this time. He can feel the streaks of it down his cheeks, the shake of his smiles, the blur in his eyes as he grins at her. 

“Temari,” he says, as sincerely as he can in this moment, “I love you so much.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she says with a huff. “Jesus.” She looks away and then uncrosses her legs to scoot further away from him on the bench. “I can’t even talk to you.”

He laughs and wipes at his eyes, sliding along the wood to get closer to her, closer even than he was back before she moved. “Temari,” he says again. “It’s our wedding.”

She’s looking at him, unamused, as she waves a hand. “Very clearly _not_ a wedding.”

“We’re getting married.” He continues. Then he reaches for her chin and pulls her the few inches it takes for her mouth to meet his. She doesn’t put up any resistance, allowing him to kiss her, to drag her closer, to catch her lower lip between his. “I love you.” He says again when he pulls back. 

Temari, slowly opening her eyes, smiles. 

“Okay.” She says, resting her hand on his leg. “Seriously, stop crying.” The hall is much too quiet. Even with her voice lower, her words seem to bounce against the walls. “And I swear to god,” she continues, hearing the echo, “if you tell me I’m too loud right now—” 

She doesn’t finish, because he grabs her face and keeps kissing her.

* * *

**4\. Too Loud at the Opera**

Shikamaru pulls at his tie. It feels too close to his neck. His shirt is too tight. It’s an old one though. Was it always this secure around his neck? Did he gain weight? Did Ino have it adjusted somehow (unlikely to have actually happened, but if it is something someone did, it would _definitely_ be something Ino did)? 

“Stop,” she says. “You look fine.”

Shikamaru tries to take a deep breath, but it’s hard with such a vice around his throat. 

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he complains. “I didn’t realize I’d have to dress up.”

“I told you people look nice at the opera.”

“This is a little beyond that, don’t you think?” 

She doesn’t answer him, but he’s not looking for anything other than validation that he is on record as being reluctant to attend this. 

The usher has stopped at their row and moves aside for Shikamaru to walk in. They are about six chairs in and, luckily, no one else has found their seats and they’re able to get to theirs with ease. Ino hands him a program as soon as they sit and then begins looking at hers. 

He’s never been to the opera. There are small screens on the back of the seats before them where they’ll translate the lyrics from Italian, or so he’s read. It must be hard to keep an eye on the stage as well as the screen. Sacrifice one for the other. 

Shikamaru swallows and pulls at his tie again. 

There is an man, much older than his parents, beside him now. Everyone around them is older. The seats are filling up more, the noise around them louder with the hum of people greeting each other and discussing the upcoming event.

“We’re the only two down here who’ve never been.” 

“Shh,” Ino breathes. “I need to try to read this before it starts.”

He checks his watch. She only has a few minutes, if they start on time. And it looks like she’s gotten into some sort of essay. 

Shikamaru sighs, slumping back in his chair and reluctantly reaching for the program. They do have a bar here. Maybe he should have gone for that? Does he have time? Probably not. And it’s too much work to push past the people to the aisle now. Plus, Ino will be pissed. 

He glances back, meaning to look over how much the audience has filled up, when his spine goes rigid. 

She’s right there. Right behind him. 

Right there!

Temari has seen him. She saw the moment he turned — probably, he thinks, when he _can_ think, she saw him earlier — and then she looked away. She can’t hide from his gaze, but she is looking down so she doesn’t have to meet it. 

Shikamaru turns back with a start. He isn’t sure he’s ever moved so fast in his life. 

It’s been almost two years.

His shoulders are tight. His neck, long, hurts. He’s staring, eyes wide, at the empty stage before him. He’s shocked. That’s what this is — absolute shock. 

He can hardly breathe. 

What should he do? He’s never felt so out of control. At least, he hasn’t felt so uncontrolled since her. She’s always had a way of that though. It’s something he’s always liked about her. It’s also the thing about her that scared him the most (though there were many things).

Goddammit. This is _not_ the time. He’d just recently been better. Somewhat. A bit. 

Right though — that’s what happens, isn’t it? That’s how life works. That’s how she works.

She’s seen him. Obviously. Of course. He needs to say something. He’s an adult. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? To hide from her? To, maybe, pretend he hasn’t seen her? She’s right behind him. 

He glances over at Ino. She’s not paying him any attention. 

He might be imagining it, but he is sure Temari is looking at him. The back of his neck burns. His tie is too tight. 

After a long breath, an exhale she surely saw in his shoulders, he turns back. 

“What are you doing here?” 

This time, she doesn’t look away. 

He keeps his eyes on hers, even though it hurts to, even though her eyes have always been _so much_. 

He’s never seen her this dressed up. She’s tanner, he sees in her shoulders without looking down. Darker than when they were together. Her hair is shorter. Her lips still cut the same though. He’s always been attracted to her, even when he didn’t want to be. 

“Me?” She says shortly, but it’s belated, as though it took her a moment to understand his question. “You hate this stuff.” Her voice is as hard as it ever was, her words quick and enunciated. “This is the last place I should see you.”

His head hurts. “I don’t want to be here either.” Finally, he looks down with a sigh, taking in the sweep of her dress, her lap, the program she is holding — squeezing — in her hand. When he looks back up, he is looser. He’s ready for her answer. He’s already seen her. What more can he really do? It hurts his back to be twisted this much. “Want me to leave?”

“Oh, now you’re accommodating?”

He frowns. “What does that mean?”

Temari rolls her eyes and falls back against her seat, arms crossed over her chest. 

She’s looking for a fight. He recognizes it in the way she looks at him, the way her words come. She often used to do that. Well, maybe not often. Actually, they rarely fought at all. Which was surprising, as they were very different. Little things, sure. But it was very rare that things turned into full-blown arguments. And when they did, it was almost always at her urging. She liked it. And she always knew how to make it go there when she wanted it to. She was always good at things like that. She was always good at _him_. 

Shikamaru relents. He gives up. He doesn’t want to fight her. He doesn’t want to have even seen her. 

He raises his hand to stop her impending response, relenting, and turns, carefully, back to sit properly. He’s lucky to be the one in front. He doesn’t have to see her anymore than he already has. This can all be over. He can return to thinking on her, which, somehow, is better than seeing her. 

Ino, apparently too immersed in the program, doesn’t seem to have even noticed him turning around. She doesn’t even look up. 

And then, on good timing, the lights dim and a hush falls over the whole crowd. 

Ino, now unable to read, closes the program and finally straightens. She leans over. “Did you know there is supposed to be rape in this? Or something a lot of people interpret as rape.” She shifts, adjusting her legs. “A lot of people being modern critics, obviously.” 

Shikamaru waves her off. He can’t think about that now. He has no capacity to contemporaneously analyze the story that is about to begin before them. He needs to keep his concentration from Temari. All his bandwidth needs to hone in and pay attention solely to the opera. He needs to pay attention to what is happening before him in its rudimentary details. He will look at the screen and read. Or the stage and watch. He cannot consider what Ino is asking him to. He cannot let his mind wander at all from the external stimuli. If not, he knows what will happen. He knows how the rest of the evening, the night, the handful of following months will go. He will sit and ruminate on her, will lose coherency solely in trying to parse out everything she said, everything she meant, everything that came before and that led to this exchange. 

He needs to pay attention to something else. 

Still. All he can think about, in the back of every thought as he puts real work into thinking, actively, about the beginning of the music that is being played, is how she is right behind him. 

He should leave. If these had been tickets to anything else, he would. 

Seeing her isn’t good. 

And he can’t stop thinking about her behind him; thinking about how he used to know the _feeling_ of her behind him, her lips on the back of his neck. He’s going to be on this the whole time, even as he tries to focus on something different. 

Is this an overture? Do operas have overtures? 

Fuck. 

If Ino weren’t here, he’d leave, nevermind the expense of the tickets. If it were him, even with these impressively-difficult-to-get seats, he’d still leave. But he owes Ino. He’s not _indebted_ , he’d just agreed. And he’s not enough of an asshole to leave her. 

He’s here with Ino. He can’t let his ex-girlfriend get to him. 

It seems like an overture? But maybe it’s a long opening… all operatic music kind of sounds the same to him. He generally considers himself pretty knowledgable in the world; pretty well-read. He’s even read two or three librettos before. But he’s never actually _seen_ an opera performed. 

He’ll pay attention. He’ll read the translations, watch the show, evaluate the probable-sexual assault, and discuss the whole thing in depth with Ino afterward over a drink the way she wants him to. He’ll do it. 

He plans to. 

But as soon as he solidifies this decision, there is a warm breath against his neck, the back rim of his ear. 

“So you’re dating Ino now.” 

She’s not posing a question. 

He bristles, biting his tongue to keep from doing anything more. 

“You always were so close.”

“Shh!” Someone behind him says. 

He knows she’s baiting him. She knows well enough that this isn’t a date. 

“I guess I was just in the way—”

He turns around in one quick motion. “I haven’t dated anyone—” he whispers as hard as he can, face only inches from her. “How could I? After….” He stops, looking at her. He’s too close. He doesn’t want to do this. Slowly, looking away, he turns back to face front, raising a hand again to stop whatever else she might say. He won’t engage in this. 

“What are you doing?” Ino chastises when he settles back in his seat. “Who—” she turns and looks over his shoulder “—oh.”

Temari, too, apparently, suddenly decides to leave it be. She stands. He can hear her seat move; hear the complaints from people next to her as she walks out, forcing them to adjust or stand to let her through. It’s not loud, but it is distracting. Someone groans. 

He swallows, still looking toward the empty stage, spine straight. 

“Shikamaru,” Ino says with more weight behind it. She rests her hand on his arm. “I didn’t realize she’d—” Ino stops with a sigh. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.”

It’s fine. It’s perfect. He hadn’t wanted to fight in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to speak at all. This is better. Without her here, maybe, he can pay attention. It’s much easier to forget about her knowing she is gone, knowing she isn’t there. She’s probably gone home. She probably lives somewhere new. She probably is going to exit, take a cab somewhere, and continue living her life with no consideration of him or how it feels for him to see her. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. 

He doesn’t last long enough to even see the lights turn on the stage and the first singer emerge. 

He’s too antsy. He feels it in his fingers, his knees, and the jump in his ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he stands. 

Ino holds her hands up in surrender. She doesn’t even try to keep him there, she simply lets him climb over her legs. 

“C’mon.” Someone says as he forces them to stand, but otherwise all he gets are some annoyed looks. 

Shikamaru breaks free into the aisle and begins walking up. She’s gone by now, surely. But maybe he’ll catch her waiting for a taxi or leaving the bathroom. Something. Anything. 

He has no idea what he is going to say, except that he has to say it. He can’t let it end there. There are so many things he has wanted to say to her for so long. He must now — he must. He’ll be better able to move on, probably, if he just speaks with her. Maybe if he rises to her fight, or if he apologizes, or if he can somehow tell her that he thinks of her every day without being too weak, without hurting himself more; maybe then, he’ll be okay.

She hasn’t made it anywhere though. She’s standing in the back, along with crowd of standing-room ticket holders. He mostly only sees her outline, because the moment she catches him running up the aisle toward her, she turns around and exits out the two wide double doors leading into the lobby. 

Shikamaru follows, pushing past the doors after her, coming face-to-face as soon as he is in the well-lit, completely empty lobby. 

“No.” She says as soon as the doors close behind him. She raises a hand to stop him from coming any closer. “You ended things with me.” Still, she takes a step back. He can see the rise and fall of her chest, hear the hardness in her tone. “You don’t get to come talk to me. It’s my choice to approach you.”

He frowns. “You were the one just looking for a rise.”

Temari swallows. She exhales until there is nothing left in her lungs, the pause clear in her features. And then she inhales, nodding her head. “You’re right. I was. But I stopped.” She meets his eyes. “I don’t want to see you. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Temari.” It’s the first time he’s said her name aloud. The first time in a long time. It feels wrong. He sounds too desperate. Too unsteady. He lifts a hand a few inches to reach out, and then lowers it. She isn’t moving, but he looks away anyway. He isn’t sure, if he keeps his gaze, whether she will stay or not. 

He’s choking. 

He’s always been steady except with her. 

He always should have known better. 

“How are you?”

She shakes her head, mouth in a hard line.

He glances back up. He can’t understand. Why is she so angry? He had been the one to leave, sure, but only so that she didn’t leave him first. She was the one who wanted it. 

“Temari.” He says it again, even though he can tell she doesn’t like it. “I broke up with you because you weren’t serious with me. And I was with you. I was serious.”

She barks a laugh, seemingly taken aback with what he is saying. She shakes her head again, but this time more in disbelief than not giving permission to his question. 

“It’s not ‘breaking up,’” she says, “if we were never dating.”

What?

“We _were_ dating.”

She raises her brows. “We were very much not.”

He cannot even form a response. He can’t make sense of anything she is saying. He has absolutely no clue what sort of cogent sense she is making, what sort of conclusion the sentence draws, the logic behind the order of words. It doesn’t make sense, except all he can think to say, over and over, pedantic in his point, is that _this is exactly_ what he’s talking about. 

“We were basically _living_ together, Temari.” He rolls his eyes. “This is what I mean!”

It’s not one-sided though. She is looking at him as though he is speaking another language. She is confused, aghast. 

“How is _that_ dating? We never discussed anything like that.”

“Why would we have to discuss it?” He cannot figure it out. He thinks back to it in momentary snippets, thinks to the key to her apartment on his ring, to her toothbrush by his sink, to her leaving coffee when she went to work in the morning. “What more did we need to do?”

Temari laughs, but it’s not nice. Her smile is nothing like it is when she is actually happy. 

“We were having _sex_.” She says slowly, as though clarifying. “There’s a difference.” She rolls her eyes when it is clear he isn’t agreeing, raising her voice. “We never spent time together unless we were having sex! _How_ does that constitute dating?”

The doors behind him open and an usher walks out.

She is too loud. 

“Please, sir, ma’am. Could you keep your voices down? I will have to ask you to not,” he looks between them, “… _talk_ over here.”

“Sorry.” Temari says, bringing a hand to her chest. Shikamaru closes his eyes and exhales, long, as she continues. “We’re leaving right now.”

The man nods and turns, letting the door swing quietly shut behind him, the low hum of the opera getting softer as it closes. 

When Shikamaru opens his eyes, she is holding up a hand. “Don’t start with me.”

He groans. His chest hurts. None of this is making sense. 

“We _happened_ to have sex while we were doing other things,” he responds. “That’s what dating is: spending time together.”

“No.” She’s furious. He can see it. There is rage thrumming beneath her skin, in her belly, in the fire behind her gaze. But she also likes this. She’s always liked it. She likes pushing against him. “We were eating before or after the sex. Playing shogi? Watching a movie? Things we did _around_ sex.” She waves a hand and takes a step closer. “Anytime I _tried_ to hang out with you, you fell asleep!”

He remains absolutely flabbergasted. He can’t comprehend anything she is saying when he has always understood everything so well. 

“We were together.” He says, angry too, rage-full too. “You were everything! How can you say it was just sex?”

“I’m not saying it was _just_ sex.” She snaps. “Just that the bounds of our categorization were that we were _having_ sex. For a man who likes to be comprehensive and informed, you’re sure stretching the dimensions of societal coherency.” 

This is why he shouldn’t have come out. He never should have spoken to her, followed her, engaged with her when he knew how it would end. He might have expected different things said, but it was always going to end uglier than it should. Uglier than he ever wanted it to be. It hadn’t been ugly before, he hadn’t let it get there. When it was clear that it wasn’t going to work, clear that they wanted different things, he left. She said nothing. She told him if that was what he wanted, then to do it; and so he did. 

It’s all meaningless. They’re fighting about nothing but a definition. Fighting about nothing but the past. 

But then why does he want this? Why is it so important? Why can’t he just walk away from it like he had before, especially when the only consequence is his ex-girlfriend continuing to think poorly of him?

But he can’t. He needs her to understand. He needs her to know. To see that he was right — that he left because he was serious and she wasn’t. 

“I was meant to _tell_ you we were dating? That I was your boyfriend? You couldn’t figure it out on your own?” Shikamaru steps back, trying to take a deep breath, trying not to raise his voice. 

Temari closes her eyes. 

“If you want to hurt me,” she says, slower, “fine. Hurt me more. Dig a little deeper. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He won’t deny it. It is what he wants. How could he not?

“I was serious.” He says again. “Serious about you.”

She sighs. Blinks. Refocuses on him. Licks her lips. 

“You were young.” She’s quieter. She’s angrier. “And impetuous. And making assumptions off a higher intellect without accounting for your own personal conjecture. You’re always presupposing things and then forgetting to account for them. That’s what spoils your hypothesis, Shikamaru. Not me.” 

She fists a hand by her side, arm shaking, and then consciously, with a breath, releases it. Her bright eyes, when they meet his, hurt. 

“You’re saying you left me because you wanted more, but you never asked me for it. You never wanted to see if you could have it.”

“Could have wh— you’re the one who just said our relationship was limited to sex.”

She makes a noise of disbelief. “Stop hearing what you want to hear! You can’t just make decisions about what we were doing and expect me to follow along without ever saying anything.”

He inhales. He’s never wanted any of this. He hurts, physically, in his shoulders and jaw and in the dryness of his mouth, the vibration in his lips. 

“Temari.” It’s a plea, though he isn’t sure for what — to stop? To leave? To clarify?

She throws up her hands in the air, looking at him. That’s what hurts. _She_ hurts. 

And then she walks closer, but past him, to the side, headed for the doors. 

She’s finished. 

“If we’re done here, I might as well go back inside. I paid a lot of money for that seat.”

How can she be? How can they be?

“Done here?” He repeats. He asks. And, without even meaning to, he is reaching for her wrist, stopping her before she can get all the way past him, stopping the momentum of her body, the swing of her dress. 

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t pull back. He isn’t sure what she’s waiting for. 

“I didn’t know,” he says, letting her go on his own. He shouldn’t touch her. “I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand sheepishly to the back of his neck, unsure what to do. “I’ve never… I’d never been together with anyone before you.”

Temari isn’t looking at him. She’s staring straight ahead at the double doors. In the silence, the opera, always in the back of his ears, grows louder. 

Finally, after a long time, she turns her head. 

“I know. You have to tell people what you want.” She exhales in a half-laugh and looks down. “I’m not good at it either. But I think it’s necessary, in relationships.”

They were never good at that. She hates being vulnerable. He hates when she gets one up on him. 

He loves it too, though. He always has. Since the first day they met. 

“You’d have said yes,” he’s too quiet, he isn’t sure he’s even saying it aloud, “if I’d asked?”

She laughs. Kinder. He no longer feels the rage from her, the ire in her every word. 

“I don’t know, Shikamaru.” She speaks louder than him. She always has. “That’s not the point.”

“If I asked, then?”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes, turning fully to face him, vaguely amused. “It’s been two years. I’ve moved on.” A huff. “We don’t get in one fight and suddenly all is resolved; all is forgiven and we’re back to where we were.”

“I haven’t.” He stops. Swallows. Takes a deep breath. When he begins again, he speaks slower, putting intention behind his words. “I told you. There hasn’t been anyone — there never will be. Maybe it’s because I was too young. I didn't— Temari. If I’d known, I never would have ended it.”

She stares at him, eyes wide. She’s searching for something in his gaze, shoulders curling, the dip in her collar bone emphasizing as she leans forward, trying to figure something out. 

When she laughs, this time, it isn’t cruel at all. There is nothing bitter about it. 

“Shikamaru. Fuck.” She’s smiling. “I never should have woken you up at that campsite.” She shakes her head again, stepping closer. “If I’d known how stupid you were going to be.” And then she takes one more step, reaching out, grabbing his face and pulling him down to her. 

He doesn’t hesitate, following along, wrapping a hand around her back, her waist, pulling her closer. 

Through all his scenarios of tonight, all the possibilities of seeing her, all the times he had imagined running into her and what he would do, what would happen, all the time he imagined his life differently, beside her — still, he’d never thought this. 

She is kissing him, opening her mouth, pulling his chest to hers, scratching behind his ears, bumping her teeth against his. 

Shikamaru pulls back first, but not far. And not for long. 

So, he thinks, as he leans down again, yes. Yes. _Yes_. 

This is it. 

He turns her, looking for purchase, not thinking about anything except her mouth on his, her form in his hands, her heart against him. The first thing they hit is the set of swinging doors that would, through the second set, take them back into the theater. It’s hard enough though, with all lack of forethought, that when Temari slams her head into the door, she pulls away, yelling: ow!

“Fuck!” She continues, still shouting, releasing him to put a hand to the back of her head. 

Before Shikamaru can do anything, the doors are opening and the usher is running back out, face red, spitting as he points his finger down toward the entrance to the entire house. 

“Out!” He snaps, seething. “Get. Out. We’ll have to comp two rows of people now.” 

Temari’s mouth is open, her hand still against her head, eyes narrowed in pain. Shikamaru takes a step closer to examine the damage, but the attendant points again, violently, with restrained fury. 

“Now!” 

“Okay,” Shikamaru says, reaching for Temari’s elbow. “We’re going.”

She takes a deep breath and drops her hand from her head as they begin walking away from the usher, letting the sounds of the opera fade the further they get. 

“How’s your head?” He asks the moment they’re down the small flight of stairs to the lobby centre. 

“Fine.” She sighs. “Let’s get out of here.”

Shikamaru smiles. He can’t help it. He doesn’t even realize, at first, that he’s doing it. 

“Don’t have much of a choice,” he says, fully grinning now. He briefly considers saying something about her being too loud, but it’s probably better to stay quiet right now. She’s staying with him as they exit the building, she’s probably staying with him through tonight and then through the rest of his life, if he can help it, but he should still probably keep quiet. At least for now. Just in case. 

* * *

**3\. Too Loud at a Debate**

It’s certainly a surprise, in all. Shocking, honestly — how quickly he spots her. There is no reason for it, no particular sense of providence or any outward spotlight on her (nothing catching) that would draw his immediate eye. It’s so inane, so unforeseen, his first reaction is to promptly turn back and walk in the opposite direction, which is, thankfully, to the exit. 

He not only doesn’t really want to see her, he never wanted to come here in the first place. Win-win: avoid her, go home. 

Choji grabs him by the shoulder of his tee shirt though, wielding him back just as he begins his movement towards the door. “Where are you going? They haven’t even started speaking.”

Shikamaru sighs and falls back. They won’t let him go. They’ve only just gotten here. 

His group of friends — almost all classmates — begins milling in among the plethora of people, mostly twenty-somethings, crowding around the large stage at the back of the building. It’s a panel on international relations that is headlined by two up-and-coming leaders from opposite factions. It’ll be the first time either of them has been on stage with the other. The place is packed — lots of students, but also press, all jamming in to watch the not-entirely-formal panel, all fully expecting it to turn into much more of a not-entirely-formal guerrilla debate. 

Shikamaru isn’t one for dramatics — especially political ones. But he’s been dragged over, with much protest, and he knows there are almost no scenarios where he gets to leave this before it begins. 

He glances back. She’s standing toward the edge of the crowd, talking to some guy. 

He hasn’t seen her since that weekend they went camping, though it's not as though he has forgotten what she looks like or anything. 

Still. With a few hundred people here, she shouldn’t have caught his eye so quickly. 

Choji, following his gaze, makes a noise of understanding. “Isn’t that the girl who was on that camping trip last year? The one who hated you?”

Shikamaru huffs and turns back to his friend. “She didn’t hate me.”

Choji shrugs, dropping his hand from Shikamaru’s shoulder. “We should go say hi.”

“Why? You said it — she doesn’t _like_ me. She probably doesn’t even remember us.”

“Ridiculous. Of course she does. She was really nice to me. We talked the whole way back. Come on.”

“Fine.” He says sharply, lifting his hands in surrender. At least with Choji it can be quick. At least, in the end, this is better than her spotting him and knowing he was too much of a coward to go speak with her. “But let me get a drink first.”

Shikamaru takes a deep breath as they wait toward the edge of the bar, letting Choji be the one to push room for them. Their friends who they came with have all scattered into the crowd. He doesn’t try to look for them; every time he looks back, he feels her presence burning into his periphery. 

She really looks the same. Even her hair is pulled back in the same way. 

It’ll be pretty awkward. She obviously wants to see him less than he wants to see her. 

In the end, he figures, it’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to see her as much as he just isn’t too interested in it. 

Even when he isn’t looking back, the knowledge that she is right over there is like an itch; something crawling on his skin, reminding him, as thought it is necessary that he look at her, important that he keep his eyes on her. Finally, with reluctance (that he’ll half-admit is really thinly-veiled interest), he looks back to her. She’s not talking to anyone now, but the guy she was conversing with before is still beside her, engaged with someone else. 

It’ll probably help if she’s on a date, right? She’ll not want to talk to him much, then. She might even try to pretend like she doesn’t remember him, which he firmly believes isn’t true, despite what he’d said before. 

Shikamaru turns back, following Choji in the three inches of progress he’s made in getting them closer to the bar. 

They’d hooked up once. It wasn’t a big deal. It isn’t. 

In all actuality, the thing that annoys him the most really has nothing to do with her, but with himself: it’s that he’s thought about her a lot since then. Well. Not a _lot_. But more than he should. Just… a little too much for what was a one-time — a one- _morning_ — event. It annoys him that he thinks about it, especially because she’d been such a pain in the ass about the whole thing. As soon as they’d stopped, they’d immediately gotten in a fight about the task they were supposed to accomplish (they hadn’t actually done their job, getting distracted by the sex-act and all) and were still arguing by the time they got back to camp. There was no real reason for him to be as smitten as he was. 

But he was. 

He was actually pretty into her. If he’d had a last name, if he’d had a number… well, he would have called. 

Lucky though that he didn’t have either, because it wasn’t reciprocated. He’d have called and it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. He knows, because she has his number, and she’d never called. 

It’s a crush, that’s all. And he thinks the fault lies on him. So — okay, so he didn’t think it was unreciprocated. He thinks she actually really liked him. He thinks that they had been, even in just one morning, good together. He thinks they could’ve really gone somewhere. And he was, is, mostly sure that she thought so too. 

But, she never called. And she’s probably here with someone else. 

They make it to the bar and order two bottles. 

It’s much easier to get out, back into the emptiest part of the building, than it was to get a drink. 

“C’mon,” Choji urges, walking straight toward her. 

They’re delayed though, as there is a whine of a microphone being turned on, and then a quick shuffle of people — those still loitering around — as they surge into the room and against them to get closer to the stage. 

A hush falls over the crowd when the moderator steps onto the stage. And then, like a light is turned on, a massive applause breaks out. 

Shikamaru looks away from the bespectacled man on stage, who he can hardly see above the crowd of people anyway, to find Temari. He can only just see the top of her head now. She’s moving, trying to see the stage. And then she turns around and the next thing he knows, she’s being helped onto a ledge against the wall by the man she’d been speaking with earlier. And then she’s standing up, well above the heads of everyone around her. 

“Let’s go,” Choji urges, beginning his push again. 

“It’s starting,” Shikamaru protests, but Choji is dragging him through anyway. It’s easy, when you’re built like Choji, to get wherever you’re trying to go. 

“Exactly. Let’s hurry.”

It’s only seconds before they’re by the ledge she’s on. The applause for the moderator hasn’t even died down yet. 

“Hi,” Choji says the moment he comes to a stop. It’s loud enough to get her attention and she looks down, frowning. 

But then she smiles. She can really smile. He does remember that. 

Shikamaru rubs a hand to the back of his neck. He’s uncomfortable. Her feet start at the same height as his chest. She’s much taller. It’s much more intimidating. 

It’s clear the moment she catches sight of him, smaller, behind Choji. He can see it in her eyes. Trepidation.

“I don’t know if you remember us,” Choji begins, reaching out his hand. The audience is dying down and he lowers his voice. “I’m Choji. We met—”

“Of course! Choji.” She laughs, reaching for Choji’s hand, still grinning, all kindness and warmth, transferring her drink, almost empty, to her free hand. He’s tall enough, she doesn’t even have to bend down to shake Choji’s. “How are you?”

“Good. Remember my friend Shikamaru?”

Choji steps aside with little difficulty despite the crowd around them. 

She bends lower, tilting her head, narrowing her eyes as though trying to place him. 

Yeah, right. 

“Sorry…” she trails off, biting her lower lip like she is really struggling. 

Wow. He hadn’t thought she’d actually do it. 

“Sure.” He says, rolling his eyes, but before he can do anything else, something new happens and the crowd explodes. There are screams and whistles over the applause. He turns to see one of the debaters take the stage and when he looks back, she has straightened once more and isn’t looking at him, her eye-line at least four feet above his. 

Shikamaru sighs. Okay, Fine. Ignore him. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even want to be here right now. And the audience is much too loud. He hates when he can’t hear himself think. 

He turns, looking for Choji. But Choji is gone.

What? Shikamaru fully turns now, putting his back to the stage, looking for his friend. It’s not like Choji is easy to miss. He stands almost a foot taller than everyone else. 

Rationally though, that would explain any push back he would’ve made. Choji was always well-aware of his size and would’ve moved against the back to keep from blocking others. With this in mind, it’s only a moment before Shikamaru spots him in the far corner, down the same wall Shikamaru is near, about ten yards back and in the shadows. 

He’s too far away for Shikamaru to get to easily though — too many people between them. 

Goddamnit. Why didn’t Choji drag him along? Now he’s stuck here — alone, considering she’s ignoring him — at an event he didn’t want to go to in the first place. Fuck. 

No. He’s not _stuck_. He can just push past these people. He should.

He should push past them all the way out the front door. 

Shikamaru glances up to his left and the ledge she is standing on, and then, slowly, draws his eyes from her calves up her legs. 

Whatever. He’ll finish his drink and leave. He paid for it, might as well. 

He looks up at her again. The audience is still applauding something, but he doesn’t care enough to figure out what it is. When the cheers die down, he takes another sip of his drink and then moves to get her attention. 

“Choji?” He asks. “Really?”

She glances down, but doesn’t move more than that, staying back from him. 

After a second, she shrugs, shaking her head as though she doesn’t understand him. Her eyes, even from feet away, are wickedly bright. She waves a hand and says something. 

“Can’t hear you.”

Finally, she bends lower. 

“Sorry,” she says, still quietly and only really made out by the movement of her lips, all placation and sap. “I just don’t remember.”

Shikamaru huffs a laugh, completely caught off-guard by her continued approach. He won't say it doesn't peak his interest though. Not that he wasn't interested before (that was the problem wasn't it? That he _was_? Is?).

“Speak louder.” He pushes. 

She inhales, blinks, and then smirks. 

She gives up whatever baiting game she's playing, straightening and crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You used to say I was too loud.”

Shikamaru laughs, purposefully this time. 

There is no point in asking her why. Or in pointing out the stupidity of pretending not to know him when they both knew she did. She is well aware of the allowance she’s given. 

“You were,” he says. And then there is tapping on one of the mics and it rings in his ear. The applause has stopped, but the conversation is beginning. They’re near a speaker, which doesn’t help, but he thinks the volume is too loud regardless. 

“Not enough, apparently.” She says. It’s loud, but he’s still leaning closer, still straining to hear her. She glances down at him for only a second before looking back to the stage. “You’re still here.”

Shikamaru sighs and takes another _long_ sip of his drink. 

He had a crush on her. He knew it. He’d known it for the past year whenever he pictured her, hoping to see her around the city, around the mutual friends they allegedly had. It was fine, in the end. Just a crush. And she was a bit annoying. And it wasn’t _enough_ for him to make a big deal out of it by asking his friends — the strenuous connections between the people they knew who knew each other — to get her number. His friends would’ve made too big a deal out of it. And if the feeling were mutual, she would’ve called. 

Just… why hadn’t she? He’d really thought she would. 

“I’m glad you remember me.” He says after a few minutes. He hasn’t listened to a single word said by either of the panelists, even though every sentence is booming from the speaker just a few feet away. 

She scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Are you going to come down?”

She looks at him, smiling, jutting out her hip to give him a longer, purposeful view of her leg. 

“What?” She asks, having to shout to be heard. “You don’t enjoy it?”

The speakers are loud, but when she talks over them like that, everyone around her hears what she is saying. 

Shikamaru sighs, closing his eyes as he leans his head back. “You’re pretty drunk, aren’t you?”

“Makes me easy.”

Shikamaru opens his eyes in time to see the people beside them make a face at her comment. 

“You’ve always been easy.”

She huffs and stands straighter. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Did before.”

“Hm… right.” She throws back her drink, which is all ice now, mostly melted in her plastic cup. “That’s probably why I didn’t call you.” She taps a fingers to her lips in thought and then looks down at him again. “No, yes, that _is_ it! You think you understand everyone.”

Shikamaru sighs again, louder this time, and looks away. 

Annoying. Right. 

Even though in his stomach, in his chest, is the grip of desire. He likes the way she speaks. He likes the cadence, the challenge, the assumptions she makes and allowances she gives. He likes the way his next words are always on the tip of his tongue before she’s finished speaking and any pause he takes is deliberate to calm himself down. 

“It’s too loud to talk.” He says, unsure if she hears him or not. He doesn’t look to check. 

He should walk away. 

But she is right. In the end. 

The thing is, he usually does. It’s why it was such a surprise, over time, that she didn’t call. He had really expected her to. He’d really _wanted_ her to. 

He moves his eyes back. She’s staring at him. He should move away. He should go push through to Choji. But all he wants is to keep her attention on him. It’s a draw on his lips, a warmth in his throat, and an itch in his stomach. 

“Temari,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said her name since he last saw her — he’s purposefully resists the enticement of how it rolls on his tongue — and she feels it too, the corners of her lips pulling back. Slowly, giving her time to decline, he raises his hand up to her. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Can’t.” She says, gesturing with one hand to the stage, but her eyes don’t leave his. 

“You always have a choice.” He recites back to her. 

Temari raises her eyebrows, lips cutting into a smirk. She judges him, eyes moving over his face, and then weighs the verdict and slides her hand into his, pressing into it as she bends down, stepping off the ledge. 

Her hand is cold, despite the heat of the room, despite the summer humidity and the alcohol around them. 

It’s hard, when she is down, standing beside him, to move. They are surrounded. And Shikamaru is trying hard not to smile too much. 

But she pays no mind. She doesn’t even look at him as she drags him through the throng, still holding onto his hand. He practically trips at the pace she is going, at the tug of her grip propelling him forward, the momentum of keeping up with her as obstacles of bodies fall back from where she has pushed them out of her way and he is forced to push them himself.

He can’t think. He'd put down his drink to help her down and now it’s long gone. He has no idea where hers is. She says nothing about leaving her friend. They’re past Choji, and then past the bar, and then, without him even looking up from following the back of her shoulders, from the brief images of her smile when the crowd parts enough for him to see and she happens to be looking back at him, they’re out the front doors and out of the building. 

The fresh air is like a slap in the face. As soon as the doors close and the groan of the people, annoyed at their insistent push past, dims. The booming voices in heated debate over the speakers, the applause of the audience — all of it becomes a quiet hum of white-noise out on the sidewalk. 

Temari drops his hand and he looks down at it, flexing his fingers, stretching out his palm. 

She never quite does what he expects her to. Maybe that’s the point she’s trying to make (and she is trying to make a point, isn’t she?).

“No drink?”

Temari laughs and takes a step back. It’s almost dark out. Well past nine pm. He’s warm and sticky with the weather.

She is shifting her weight from her toes to her heel, cheeks red and eyes bright. She cocks her head. “You don’t want to get out of here yet?” 

She says it loudly. Loud, like she’s still trying to be heard over the speaker. Too loud for out here. 

The few people walking past all turn their heads toward her. 

Shikamaru shifts out of their way, stepping further down the block. 

He’s so taken aback by the volume of her voice, it takes him a moment to even start to understand what she has said. Why does it feel like he is always the one catching up when he speaks to her? Why does everything always seem to speed up around her?

“We’re going to—” he huffs, stopping short. He can’t quite finish the sentence. This can’t be what she means. She never called him. 

“Are you asking if we’re going to have sex?”

A couple walking by comes to a full stop to look at her. 

It’s purposeful, he knows. She’s playing her volume to annoy him. To get a rise out of him.

He won’t say it’s not working. 

Everything she does always works. 

But. Oh. He wasn’t expecting this. He was hoping, maybe, for _her_ number. For an explanation. For an apology or an admittance of some sort. He wasn’t — 

“Is that a problem?” She asks, stepping closer to where he’s moved on the sidewalk, away from the doors. 

Shikamaru wants to laugh. 

No. It’s not a problem. 

He exhales and looks away from her. He thinks he may be blushing. His hands, as they reach into his pocket for his pack and a lighter, shake. It’s good to have a cigarette now. Might calm him down. 

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need him to give her confirmation, he is sure. She certainly can see it all over his face. 

Temari waits, a few feet back, the gleam of sweat on her neck, eyes so alive it hurts, until he has finished lighting up. She stays, watching him, through his first drag. She holds still, once the smoke clears before his vision, and lets him take a second puff. But then, before he can fully exhale, she is stepping forward and pulling the cigarette from between his fingers and tossing it somewhere as she uses her other hand to pull his head forward, pulling his mouth down to her. 

She kisses with her lips closed. She kisses hard. It pulls the air from his lungs, the logos from his mind. He holds her face, holding her closer, opening her mouth with his own. 

“I thought you didn’t like to kiss?” He says when he pulls back. 

Temari laughs, her cheeks still between his hands and then leans back in. “I thought you didn’t date loud girls?”

“Exceptions,” he says. Or tries to say. It’s hard to manage coherency around her mouth.

* * *

** 2\. Too Loud at the Lake **

He wakes up to a prodding in his oblique. He’s been sleeping on rocks, so it takes a moment for him to even recognize the dull jab in his side is moving, pushing, lightly, into him every few seconds and isn’t a product of just having rolled onto another rock.

“Wake up.”

Shikamaru groans and buries his head lower into his sleeping bag, hoping, vaguely, that he’ll fall back asleep although he’s already recognized the sunlight behind his eyelids, even though it’s cold and now that he’s up, it’ll be ages before he can ignore the numbing of his nose enough to rest. 

The pain hits him again. 

Someone is kicking him. It’s not hard, a prodding nudge into his kidney now that he is curled deeper over. 

Finally, with great struggle and suffering, he sits up, stretching his arms above his head and hearing the joints in his right shoulder crack. His whole body hurts. It was a horrific night. He never wants to go camping again. 

Weary, he opens his eyes. 

Temari is standing above him, hands on her hips, face in shadow with her back to the sun as she looks down at him. 

“Let’s go. Get up.”

Shikamaru sighs. Why is she even speaking with him? And so early?

He looks past her, around the camp and at the assortment of tents and the remnants of the fire from last night. 

“Why’d you wake me up?” He groans through a yawn. No one else is around. All these tents are zipped. And, while it’s light out, it’s clear that the sun has just cracked dawn. The sunlight is soft, hesitant. And it’s freezing. 

“You’re outside.”

He glances up at her, brow furrowed. She looks like she’s been up for a while. 

“And?”

“You would’ve woken up anyway. I’m trying to build a fire. And I’m not going to do it quietly on account of you. Figured I might as well do it now and use the help.”

He’s too tired to make sense of what she is saying. “Why would’ve I woken up?” 

“You fell asleep in the center of camp, idiot.” She sighs, tilting her head and peering down at him, looking vaguely amused. “Come help me collect firewood.”

Shikamaru looks past her. Why make a fire now? In another two hours, it’ll be warm enough. He moves his eyes back to her. She’s intimidating when she’s standing so tall above him like this. 

“Make as much noise as you want. I’ll take my chances.”

He pulls the top of the sleeping bag back up to his chest and lays down, closing his eyes, hoping, maybe, he’ll get lucky even though he knows it’s mostly pointless. 

“Get up.” She says again after a few seconds. He doesn’t move. Her toe, when it hits his thigh now, comes harder. 

“Ow!”

“Come on, kid.”

He huffs and sits up. She can’t be much older than him, if at all. “What?!”

“Put on your sweater. Let’s go.

He rubs his eyes, but, after a moment, complies. It seems like too much work to continue arguing when, in the end, she’s right. He won’t manage to go back to sleep. 

And, more seriously, he was hoping to get her alone for a moment. Though he’d have preferred legitimately any time other than right now. 

“Why do you want a fire so badly?”

“I want coffee.” She steps back to give him more room as he climbs out of his sleeping bag. “And I want it _hot_.”

“Hm.”

He wishes he had a coat. He’s in shorts and, even with his socks and good sweater, he’s cold.

He rolls his bag up and places it next to the tent where Ino and Choji, theoretically, are still sleeping. His shoes are outside and he slips them on. 

“Hurry _up_!” 

She’s loud enough to wake people. He’s surprised that, apart from him, it seems like she hasn’t.

“Coming, coming.” He has to jog to catch up with her from where she’s walking, heading down the hill from the clearing where their campsite is. “Man. Are you always this bossy?” “Are you always this complacent?” She asks as he comes in behind her. She doesn’t turn back to check he’s following her. He’s not quiet, walking through the woods so openly, but he’s still surprised she doesn’t pull him the extra two feet to be beside her and guarantee his attendance.

“I’m not complacent.”

Shikamaru takes larger steps to come to stand beside her anyway. 

Temari glances at him now, smirking. “Oh, I see. It’s just not worth it to put in any energy for you, is it?”

He frowns. She’s right, he thinks. 

Except maybe she isn’t. He also knows — is aware, in a way that is itching in the back of his head as he rolls his eyes before her — that she was only one more refusal from giving up. Had he said No one more time, she would have left him. This took much more energy than that would have. 

He doesn’t say that though. 

“So why are you even here? Camping, I mean. You don’t seem to enjoy it.”

He huffs. He kicks a small pebble in their path. “I was told I volunteered.”

She laughs. It’s loud and open, almost thunderous in the silence of the dawn. 

He swallows. 

“You always have a choice.”

When she smiles, it’s hard to look away. 

“Sure.”

She turns them off the trail and down a steeper edge. Carrying firewood, or whatever else she wants, back up this way seems unrealistic. Especially with the way his shoulders are hurting. 

He hadn’t slept much the night before. It was hard, on the floor. There were two larger rocks — ones deeply dug into the earth — that they hadn’t removed when setting up the tent. And Choji was snoring. And Shikamaru was all around not versed in sleeping outside — he had lots of experience of _falling_ asleep outside… just, none of _going_ to sleep outside. Not for an entire night. And somehow, there is a difference. He doesn’t know how to articulate it, but there is. After hours of rolling around, he had taken his bag out of the tent to go out and look at the stars. They were beautiful, more beautiful than they’d ever been in the city, and then the next thing he knew, she was kicking him awake. 

Temari turns them, leading him down in another direction, still off-trail. He hopes she knows how to get back. He spends time paying attention to her path though, just in case. 

Five minutes from camp, she stops and looks at a large stick on the ground. Maybe it could be considered a log? He doesn’t know the requirements. 

“Here, this doesn’t look too wet.” But she pulls back after touching it. “Nevermind.”

Shikamaru sighs. “We should be moving higher. We’re getting too close to the water. If anything is going to be dry, it’ll be up there.”

Temari steps back, but then, ignoring him, continues to walk down. 

He waits, looks around for a moment, and then follows. What else, really, is he going to do?

“So,” she starts when he catches up to her, “what are you studying?”

“You’re asking about school?”

“Would you rather talk about something else?”

“I’d rather not talk at all.”

She turns back to him, amused, and when she faces forward again, he keeps his eyes trained on her shoulders, on the line of her neck and the hairline on the bottom of her skull. Her hair is so light, it can be hard to see the small wisps of it that don’t make it into her ponytails unless he is up close. 

He wants to reach out and touch them. Does she know they exist?

“What are you reading?” She asks again, as though phrasing the question differently will prompt an answer. She likes to play with words. He can tell.

Shikamaru swallows. “Philosophy.”

Temari laughs again, loud. It’s so loud, they probably can hear it at camp.

“Yes, totally.” She says, still laughing. He’s not sure what’s so funny. “I can totally see that.”

“Why is that an insult?”

She turns around, stopping still. “Have you met your classmates? Professors? You’ve had conversations with them about things other than Hume?”

He nods. 

“Well there you go. That’s your answer.”

“Whatever.”

“Mhm.” She laughs again, quieter, and then turns back to whatever path she is forging, taking them closer and closer to where he thinks the lake is. 

“And you?”

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

Why is she so difficult? Why does he like it so much?

Maybe there is some credence to what Ino and Choji said yesterday?

“Temari.”

She glances back at her name and smiles. “I’m in grad school. International Relations.”

“Does that include a lot of conflict resolution work?”

“Surprised?”

He’s the one to laugh now. “Unbelieving.”

She looks back. She really looks at him a lot. She was doing it all last night too. 

It warms his stomach. Even though it’s early and he slept on his neck in a weird way, and he’s resenting the fact that he is, eventually, going to have to slog back up these hills, he’s still glad to have come. He can’t stop smiling. 

It’s only another minute before they reach the edge of the water. 

She stops at it. It’s a small beach, mostly made of pebbles. The lake is big. It’d be a longer swim than one he’s ever made to get to the other side. Three-quarters of its edge is visible to them, but the end bit disappears around a bend. He has some idea of how far it goes, having looked at the map. Hopefully she isn’t thinking of walking around it or anything. 

“Why’d you want to come here?” He asks. She’s standing a few feet ahead of him and a few feet from the water. 

She shrugs and he traces the movement with his eyes. 

Then, slowly, she looks over her shoulder, her gaze running from his knees up to his face. 

“You’re pretty into me, aren’t you?”

He’s taken aback. He’s never been confronted like this. 

Usually, when there is mutual interest, even when both parties know it, even as he knew it when he left his sleeping bag this morning, none of them ever say it so blatantly. 

He’s not uncomfortable though. She has a way of looking at him. At baiting him. 

He likes her smile. He likes her quick responses. He likes the way, reluctantly, that she riles him. 

He’s never actually done this before. 

“You’re the one who openly sat around the campfire staring at me. For hours.”

Temari exhales a laugh and shrugs, turning away from him, squaring off her shoulders to the water once more.

“Want to swim?”

“No.” It’s quick. He’s already cold. The water will be freezing. “Not at all.”

“Come on, Shikamaru.” She says. And then, without saying anything more to make her case, she unzips her fleece. He watches, mouth dry, as she strips it off. Then her tee shirt. He doesn’t look away. He’s close enough to see goosebumps on her skin. 

He knows the conclusion of this. He’s known it, really, since she woke him up, but he’s still surprised. He’s still riveted. 

She doesn’t turn around or make any other gesture for his attention — though it’s not like she doesn’t have it — as she unhooks her bra, letting the straps slide off her shoulders. 

Even though he had a feeling this is where it was going, he’s still surprised it has. He’s still surprised — shocked — when she pulls off her pants and is soon completely naked before him, pulling the ties from her hair and then, without any hesitation, beginning to walk forward. When she hits the water, which he knows must be cold, she doesn’t even flinch. She continues, stopping another foot later, where it pools around her knees.

So, no firewood collection then?

“You wake up early.” She says, back still to him, naked in the early-morning light. “This is what you get.”

“Hypothermia?”

She laughs again, but still doesn’t turn around. “I can warm you up.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t date loud girls.” It’s a reflex. A panic. A push, really, to see what she will say. 

“What a coincidence — you have standards too! At least we have one thing in common.” She looks back at him. He takes in the curve of her shoulder, her neck, the slight glimpse of her breast.He raises his brows, finding her challenge, fingers edging toward the bottom of his sweater. This is crazy — but he’s twenty; what does it matter? “I don’t date chauvinistic assholes.”

And then, with absolutely no hesitation (does she ever hesitate?), she takes another step forward. She must have been at a drop point, because she immediately slides completely under the water. 

Moving quickly, quicker than he ever has since he was a kid, Shikamaru pulls off his clothes and takes out his ponytail, not breathing until he is standing there naked, and then follows where she has disappeared. 

It’s a shock to his system as soon as the water hits his skin, but it’s not nearly as cold as he’d expected. 

It’s July. Maybe that explains something. He doesn’t know much about weather patterns. 

He braces himself, works on breathing, and doesn’t pause as he wades out to her. 

And she’s waiting there. The water is waist deep where she is. 

She’s facing him when he comes to a stop, standing up, her hair past her shoulders when wet, long streams of water running down her chest. 

The cold of the water is nothing against the fire in his stomach.

It’s hard to breath. He feels like he should look away, give her her privacy. In the times he has been with someone before, it’s almost always been nighttime, in the dark, under blankets. He’s never actually been so exposed to someone else. But she’s standing there, so openly nude, that the point is _for_ him to look. He knows this, even as his cheeks red and he wants to turn away. It’s so much. It’s too much. 

_Pretty into her_ might be playing it safe. 

No, he doesn’t want to look away. He _feels_ like he should turn away, but he doesn’t _want_ to. 

And neither does she. She’s smirking, watching it unfold. And then her legs seem to collapse under her and she goes completely under again. 

It’s not deep enough for her to disappear though, and he watches as she swims closer to him. He holds his breath as she comes up, inches from him, nipples hard, skin pale from the cold. 

“Warm, isn’t it?”

Shikamaru huffs an exhale and looks away, smiling, pushing his hair back behind his ears. 

And then Temari, seemingly, again, with no hesitation at all, reaches for his right hand before he can drop it back in the water. 

His heart jumps at the contact and he quickly looks back to watch her as she holds his fingers up, sturdy in her grasp. 

Why is he so surprised? They’re naked in the lake before six am, completely alone. He knows what will happen, of course, but he’s still jumping at every move, heart pounding, hurting, almost, in the shock of her actually closing in. He can feel her against him even though her torso is still an inch from his. Maybe it’s heat coming off her, maybe some electricity or something else in advance of her arrival, as though his body is physically warning him of impending contact. 

He watches, silent, as she takes his fingers to her lips. He’s shaking as she kisses the pads of his fingers. Her mouth is warm. And then, slowly, he watches as she parts her lips and, carefully, pushes her teeth against his finger, digging in, holding him in place with her teeth as well as her hand. And then she closes her mouth around him, and sucks. 

Shikamaru gasps. Her mouth is too hot. Her tongue is soft on his nails. Wet. 

_Warm you up_ is _definitely_ an understatement. 

She pulls the edge of his fingers from her mouth and then holds his hand before her, licking between his digits, over his knuckles. 

He’s shaking. 

And then, moving in a way that prompts him to meet her gaze, she hones in on his pointer and middle fingers, pulling them back into her mouth, flattening her tongue against them, sucking on them. 

Fuck. He’s never felt anything like this. How is something so small so erotic?

Finally, after long minutes where he feels like he is only moments away from some sort of collapse, she pulls his hand from her mouth and places it on her chest. She holds his wrist, pulling it lower, fingers spread out on her skin as she drags his hand down her stomach and still lower. 

“Water isn’t good for this.” He says, trying desperately to think of anything else, lest this end much earlier for him than he wants it to. 

“Mm,” she hums, stepping so close, it is hard for him to keep touching her. She brings his hand fully between her legs. “So knowledgeable.” She is smiling. He lets his eyes fall to her lips and the invitation of them. “Really experienced, are you?”

In the back of his mind, he knows he wants to say something else. To quip back or answer the rise she is seeking, but he can’t concentrate enough to do it. 

“I don’t know.” He mutters, honestly, still eyeing her mouth.

“We’ll find out.”

He swallows and then leans in, but she tilts her head in a way that brings him back to her gaze as she pushes his hand against her harder. Her eyes are so bright. They’re blue and green, maybe, and warm, and she’s so close to him, it’s hard to get them into focus. But he watches, his whole body vibrating, as he adjusts his hand, pulling it from her grip in a necessary way so that he can press his fingers against her clitoris. 

It’s just a press, but she makes a noise, eyelids fluttering closed and head falling back. 

He comes closer, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible while still keeping his hand against her, fingers curling in motion. 

Shikamaru watches her, astounded at how alluring she is just in the lines of her neck, the movement of her chest as she breathes, the shake, slightly, of her shoulders as he moves to press the heel of his palm against her so his fingers can move lower, tracing at the edge of her entrance, pushing lightly inside her. He leans closer as he pushes in, kissing the front of her neck, the hollow of it. He can feel her exhales against his lips. 

And then he’s inside her and she’s making more noise, softly, arching into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. 

He speeds up, pushing insistently, curling his fingers the way someone once showed him. He’d never imagined he’d actually be here though, just doing this, and he thinks he should’ve paid more attention. He wishes, now, in some ways, he could actually lay her down and figure out what she wants, what is best, but she’s holding his shoulders, whispering things in his ear, digging nails into his skin as she moves along with him, and any thoughts of anything else go as quickly as they come. 

When she raises her head, without thinking anything of it, he moves to bring his lips to hers. He’s desperate to feel her breath against him, to inhale the quiet noises she’s making, to pull the shaking of her lips into his own mouth. But she moves away, pushing lightly on his chest. 

He stops. 

She’s not far back. His arm is still around her waist. And she’s not pushing him away anymore either. 

“No kissing on the lips.”

Wha— he frowns. “I’m literally inside of you.”

Temari pouts, as though seriously concerned, even though he can trace the mocking in her eyes, the play in her tone. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She rags. “Do you not want to be?” She’s pulling him closer though, pulling his chest back to her even as she says it. “Your choice.” 

Shikamaru can’t help but laugh. She’s right to pull him back. He wouldn’t have given any other answer. 

“You always have a choice,” she continues, laughing as he goes back to mouthing at her neck, smiling against her, “remember?”

* * *

**1\. Too Loud at a Campsite**

“How much more?” Choji groans the moment he sits down.

Ino shrugs, reaching and leaning over to a group of people she’s only just met to glance at the map. 

“Looks like another, hmmm… four inches to the place? And we’ve gone two inches, about.”

Shikamaru sighs. “Helpful.”

He has no idea why he is here to begin with. 

It’s too late to turn back though. And regardless, considering someone else drove him here, going back on his own isn’t much of an option.

He takes off his pack. He is carrying more than Ino. It makes sense in that he is bigger and stronger than her… but _does it_ make sense, really, when she is the one who has dragged him here? And when a good third of the weight on his back are her things?

Choji has the bulk of it though, so he won’t say anything. 

With a long sigh, he takes a seat, laying his head upon the backpack he’d just dropped. He can at least close his eyes for a second while they wait. 

They’ve stopped for a few minutes. It’s been three miles, according to the markers he’s noticed, but he doesn’t say this to his friends. Too much work. 

Plus, there are almost twenty other people he has never met on this trek with them (“adventure” is what Ino says, but he’d wager hard against that description of what promises to be a lackluster weekend), and one of them surely should have noticed the little signs they passed on the trail. 

Though, the strenuous connection between them all comes from one of Ino’s classmates, so, maybe not. 

“Well there you fucking go.” Someone snaps. “Why would you even bring that?”

He glances over, cracking an eye open. Near the head of the pack is the intense girl — the one who looks the strongest, Shikamaru’s noticed right away (having the shortest shorts also helped accentuate the leg muscle, which is why he’s noticed, that’s all) — and she’s shouting at the guy who’d wanted a break, pulling things out of the backpack he’s carrying. 

“There are specific ways to pack.” She’s loud. 

“It’s an art.” Someone else from the group adds, and the boy whose bag she’s pulling apart shrugs helplessly, looking exhausted. 

“Idiot.” She continues. “It’s too much. Jesus christ.”

Shikamaru rolls his eyes. She seems like a lot. 

He’s a good ten feet away, but she must have seen his expression, because the next thing he knows, she’s standing over him, hands on her hips. 

“What’s your problem?”

Shikamaru looks up at her. 

“You’re too loud.”

The girl makes a noise, tilting her head. “Oh, sorry.” She says, voice cloying. “Are you sensitive to loud volumes? Should I quiet down?” She leans closer, hands on her knees. “You probably want some help too. We can stop walking for a while, you know. Take it one mile at a time. I bet you—” she looks behind her for one second before turning back to Shikamaru “—and my idiot brother would like that. I bet they deliver food up here too, so it’ll be no problem if we get there past midnight and can’t cook.” She reaches out, patting a hand to his shoulder. “As long as _you’re_ feeling comfortable.”

Shikamaru exhales in a laugh. Wow. 

He sits up, forcing her to move back so that she’s not too close to him. He waves his hand lazily in the air. “No, continue on.”

“Yelling at you?”

“Yelling in general.”

She huffs and stands all the way up. 

Shikamaru smirks. Interesting. 

The girl turns around and begins walking to where she’s left her brother, apparently, but then she pauses and, for only a moment, looks back to where Shikamaru is still sitting down. She’s smiling, softly, as though still musing on it. And then she turns and heads over to where she’s pulled everything out of her brother’s pack. 

Shikamaru shakes his head and lays back, hands behind his head and legs long. 

Beside him, hunched over, Choji is looking at the girl. Everyone, actually, is looking at her. 

“I hate women like that.” Shikamaru says. “I really have no interest in them whatsoever.”

“Don’t you?” Choji asks.

“What?”

“She’s your type.”

Shikamaru sits up, shaking his head. “Huh? No she’s not. I don’t have a type.”

Ino sighs, patting him on the back. “Yeah,” Ino says with a nod, “she absolutely is.”

He almost laughs. What a ridiculous idea. “No. No interest. I have a headache just from listening to her.”

Ino and Choji share a look, but they don’t say anything more, so Shikamaru closes his eyes and relaxes, hoping, though knowing better, than it’ll take at least half an hour to repack that boy’s bag and he can get a few moments of sleep. 

It doesn’t happen though, of course; and within another two minutes, they’re back up and walking to the campsite. 

It’s a plod. Ino and Choji are in full conversation with that classmate of Ino’s as they walk. No one pays Shikamaru any mind, which is a small miracle. 

He’s loath to do any of this. There is a reason he hasn’t been camping since he was a kid. And even that was only twice, _maybe_ three times. And those were always with Ino’s parents. Not his own. 

This whole thing is such a drag. He could be spending this weekend laying down. Instead, he’s on a ten mile hike into the mountains only to have to do _more_ work when he gets there. 

“We’re so close,” Ino says, hours later. “Buck up, Shikamaru.”

“We’ll set up the tent right away,” Choji adds, laughing. “You can sleep as soon as we get there.”

The loud girl, hearing this, turns to look at them, rolling her eyes. 

She’s unimpressed with him. That’s fine. He finds her annoying. He doesn’t have much of an interest in riling her like he thinks he could. Not much of an interest at all.

When they arrive, he does help, waywardly, with the tent. He unpacks what he needs to. He shares a bag of chips with Choji. He even speaks with a few more people. 

It’s a few more hours, in the end, before he rallies enough to go find a napping spot for the rest of the afternoon. 

He wanders a good hundred and fifty yards from camp — far enough to not hear the rest of them, but close enough that if they wander around shouting for him, he won’t be lost — until he finds the side of a hill he likes, with a good break in the treetops to see the sky. 

He’s only a few feet from his chosen location when he stops, spotting her lying in the wild grass, eyes closed against the sun. Temari — he’s learned her name now — left camp awhile ago. Had he known she was going to be here, he wouldn’t have come this way. Probably. 

Still. He stands there, watching her for a moment. 

She blinks. She’s not waking up, he can tell. She was just never asleep at all. 

With one hand above her eyes, she blocks out some of the sun’s glare. She’s staring at the sky. She’s watching the clouds. He recognizes it. 

Hm. Not what he expected from such a troublesome person. 

Even in the hour or so since she left the group, it’s been quieter. Easier. Around her, he thinks, is a cacophony of sound. 

Except… not now. It’s perfectly quiet, now. 

Shikamaru won’t join her. He’ll step away in another moment. Another minute. Or two. He’ll have to find another spot. She may be silent now, but she’s too loud for him to spend any time near, in the end. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! happy holidays! 
> 
> come find me on tumblr


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